


God is Good to Send Us Some Small Mercy

by RedundantHarpoons



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Childhood Friends, F/F, Hate Crimes, Homophobia, Past
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-16
Updated: 2018-03-18
Packaged: 2019-04-01 00:44:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 21,939
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13986813
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RedundantHarpoons/pseuds/RedundantHarpoons
Summary: Moira O'Deorain secures a summer placement shadowing a doctor abroad in Switzerland before her final year of secondary school.[Rating is for violence/profanity.]





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Do your best to read Moira as having a thick Irish accent when possible. I tried to work in bits of it but I am not accustomed to writing in that style, so I hope you can meet me half way on that.

Passing two fingers under her high collar, Moira tugged a bit with discomfort. She worried she would come off a bit strange if she were overdressed, but she was unwilling to risk appearing underdressed today, so she was dressed to the nines. Her deep brown brogues were stiff, she’d only gotten them last week, and they made her feet hurt. Her brown, straight cut slacks were supported with thin, deep brown leather braces to match her shoes. Her button-down was white, her vest light brown, her tie and sport coat racing green. Her hair perfectly pushed back and fiery red, her eyes bright blue. She felt ridiculous. She didn’t mind dressing up, but green was hardly her color. Between her hair, her shirt, and her coat she felt like she was being offered up as a walking, talking Irish flag.

Her mother had liked this thought, “This grand doctor fellow, he coulda taken anyone, couldn’ta he-ah?” she had said as she had seen Moira off at the airport, “Ye look grand, Moira, just grand. He’ll be wantin ta hire ya right off the plane, I’d bet,” She’d stood on her tip toes and Moira knew the cue to bend down and accept the kiss on the cheek. In recent years she had shot up to be as tall as her brothers and now towered over her smaller mother, lanky and somewhat feeling like she was all knees and elbows most of the time. Her mother assured her it would pass as she got older, but it made it no easier now, “Now crack on, dear, and call me when ye get in.”

Moira had kissed her mother goodbye at the airport and boarded the plane alone. She was en route to Switzerland where she had been thrilled to be offered a summer position studying with a renowned physician, Dr. Luka Ziegler. While Moira did not think she wanted to go into medical practice, she intended to focus on research, this summer internship would be an outstanding opportunity for her to learn from a professional. She had cold-wrote to many would-be mentors, and they all had brushed her off. A teenage girl, traveling abroad alone, to study under them? Too much trouble, too much risk.

And so it had come as a complete surprise when Dr. Ziegler had responded in the affirmative. He was not in her top choices, she had written letters to many less focused on medicine and more focused on research and the human genome, but beggars can’t be choosers and Dr. Ziegler had offered her a position. As a part of her student visa, and to assist in her studies with him, she would be housed at his home. This was off-putting to Moira at first, but upon learning he had a daughter in the home as well, she felt more at ease.

About the living situation, anyway. She tugged at the stiff collar again, feeling like a complete wanker as she approached the corral of people at passenger pickup in Zurich’s airport, wheeling a large suitcase behind her. Many people were holding signs with names on them and Moira scanned the signs more than she scanned the faces. She had seen Dr. Ziegler’s photographs from various conferences he had attended and on his hospital website biosketch page, but there was no telling how old or accurate the photos were, and she wasn’t sure she would recognize him, and he might have even sent a driver instead.

Eventually she saw O’Deorain, M. on a sign and followed the sign up the arms to the man’s face who held it. Yes, this was Dr. Ziegler, though he looked much older than he had in the conference photos taken some ten years ago or so, his hair no longer brown but nearly grey. He wore a simple brown suit and horn-rimmed glasses, and his beard was full but well-trimmed. His face had deep lines and creases, but his blue eyes seemed bright as he scanned the crowd in front of him. He would have no idea what Moira looked like, she realized, as she had not seen it important to send him a photograph along with her resume, and he had not asked. In fact, she noticed his eyes scanned back and forth over her several times as she approached, but never seemed to pick up that it was her name on his card until she approached him and held out her hand nervously, “Dr. Luka Ziegler? I am Moira O’Deorain, thank you for allowing me to work with you this summer.”

The man seemed surprised at first, but then smiled kindly and shook her hand. Moira didn’t know what would cause his surprise, but she had some guesses. Her height usually got a few double-takes. She may look younger than he was expecting. With an internal cringe she knew he may have thought she was a man at first glance, that happened to her far more often since she decided to wear her hair short, and the suit certainly didn’t help that. Or maybe, as she feared, she was well and thoroughly overdressed. He didn’t indicate which of these were a reality, if any.

“Miss. O’Deorain, a pleasure to meet you, welcome to Zurich,” He tucked his sign under his arm and clapped her hard on the shoulder with the one he was not using to shake her hand, then motioned to her bag, “You have everything you need, ja? May I help you with your bag?”

“No, thank you, I can manage,” She assured him quickly, and followed him as he nodded and began moving toward the parking lot. He walked quickly, but her long legs weren’t always a curse and it was easy to keep up with him, “You said in your letters you don’t actually live _in_ Zurich?”

“Ja, that’s right,” He motioned to a black sedan idling at the curb, popped the boot with his keyfob, and opened the passenger door for her. She loaded her suitcase into the boot quickly and climbed into the passenger seat. He didn’t explain further until he was in his seat and they were pulling away from the curb, “My home is about forty minutes to the north, outside of town, in the countryside. It is forty minutes to the hospital from my home, I go for Grand Rounds on Monday mornings, you would want to attend, ja?” He glanced to see her nod, then smiled and continued, “Of course, of course. Yes, Mondays are Grand Rounds, I hold clinic on Tuesdays and Thursdays in the village, and on Fridays I see patients at the hospital in the city again. Weekends and Wednesdays I try to stay home with Angela when I can.”

“Angela? Your daughter?” Moira recalled him mentioning having a daughter in the home, but hadn’t asked about the girl. She chewed on her lip a bit.

“Ja, I mentioned her in the letter, I think? Angela is six, but you wouldn’t know it by talking to her. Smart as can be, takes after her mother.  It has just been her and I since my wife passed away. To be very honest with you, Miss O’Deorain, she is why I chose to take on a student intern this summer, so that perhaps she will not be so lonely,” He smiled toward her as if being told that the reason you were brought on was to be a companion to a child was some sort of compliment. Moira did not know how to react, and so stayed silent and continued worrying at her lip. She had been worried the girl would be around her age; she had difficulty being around girls her age. She was now worried the child was so young; she had difficulty being around children. She had difficulty being around anyone, really. It’s not that she was unfriendly. She tried to be friendly. It just never seemed to work out as well for her as it worked out for others. She always felt out of place.

“Ah, I hope I did not offend you, Miss O’Deorain,” Dr. Ziegler seemed to notice her silence, “I assure you there are easier ways to get a babysitter if I wished. No, your background is _most impressive_ given your age, you show great promise.” Moira stopped chewing her lip and straightened up a bit, “I will do what I can to show you the life of a physician this summer. Though I must ask, your biosketch did not seem to show an interest in practicing medicine? Why do you wish to shadow me this summer?”

 _Because you’re the only one who would take me, and a doctor in a different field writes a better letter of rec than no doctor at all?_ Moira had been ready for this question, because she’d asked herself the same thing, “I do not believe I will practice medicine, but the knowledge gained from medical study will help me in my tangentially related pursuits. As I am limited by my age and means I must find what activities are available to me and do my best in such positions.”

If Luka was fazed by her diction, or by the Irish accent that was too thick to mask, he did not show it, and instead just nodded his approval toward the windscreen. As they continued to drive Dr. Ziegler explained details of the small village clinic and the hospital at which he worked, outlined how he felt that Moira could best use her time, and pointed out various landmarks of interest as they passed them. Moira had not left Ireland before, and this was more exciting than she had expected. Zurich itself was not so much different than Dublin, but as they left the city and traveled along mountain roads the countryside became absolutely breathtaking.

At last they turned a bend in the mountain highway and a small village nestled in a green valley appeared before them. “Alpentstadt” read the small welcome sign at the border, and it listed the population at 741. As they drove slowly through the town the houses were quaint, but well-cared for and most people stopped to wave at Dr. Ziegler, who waved back. He pointed out a two-story white house with a steep-sloped roof near the center of the town and explained it was the village clinic, where she would often be joining him. He pointed out the local grocer, and also took the time to point out a village rec center, explaining it had a diner, arcade, bowling alley, and roller rink, though a small version of each, should she wish to spend her days off with the other teenagers in Alpenstadt. She doubted she would, but she nodded appreciatively at his thoughtfulness, and at the confirmation she would have days off.

They continued out the other end of town and not much further, a very walkable distance to someone as prone to long walks alone as Moira was, to a large two-story farm house surrounded by large, ancient hornbeam trees on all sides which seemed to get deeper and older the further from the house they went. Dr. Ziegler explained that the original house on the property had been a hunting cabin for men of the village many years past, and so they had never cut the deep forest much beyond this point, and the hunting was still good, though he had no time or interest himself, and Angela would likely have a fit if any animal were to be hurt for sport.

Moira imagined living in such a large house for her summer. Her home was half this size, and being the youngest of five with four rowdy brothers had meant she did not understand the meaning of privacy or personal space. This seemed a dream. Quiet solitude. Scientific studies. A professional to mentor her. It was perfect.

They pulled into the gravel drive to the side of the house and both exited the car. As Dr. Ziegler popped the boot Moira went around to grab her suitcase and pushed the lid closed in time to see a small girl bounding down the porch steps toward Dr. Ziegler as he went around the front of the car.

“Papa!” The girl shouted, running and hugging onto both of the man’s legs, and he hobbled comically for a few steps with her attached. Moira got the impression this was some sort of game they played, and she stood somewhat awkwardly to the side, smiling as she thought most people would expect when happy children were in their vicinity.

He reached down and peeled the girl away with a laugh, then kneeled and greeted the her, then turned to Moira, “And this, my girl, is Miss. Moira O’Deorain, the student that is going to stay with us this summer.”

“Hi,” was all the girl said as she held her father’s hand. Like most children, she did not have any shame in staring, and she looked Moira up and down slowly, several times. Moira shifted awkwardly.

“Hi, Angela, you can call me Moira.” She nodded to Dr. Ziegler as an afterthought, “You may as well, Dr. Ziegler.”

Angela smiled back up at her father, then dropped his hand and went running back into the house. Dr. Ziegler laughed and gave an ‘Kids, what can ya do?’ look toward Moira, before motioning for her to follow him into the house.

Moira was introduced to Sophie, a friend of Luka’s who watched Angela while he was away, before Sophie departed soon after their arrival. Luka made them tea and they sat together on the porch for most of the afternoon discussing Moira’s career aspirations and just what Luka thought of them. For the most part the girl seemed to stay upstairs playing by herself, which Moira was glad for.

As she retired to her assigned room with en suite in the evening she was quite pleased with her position. Luka Ziegler seemed sincerely interested in helping her learn more about medicine, and her accommodations were more than adequate. This would be a good summer for her, she was certain.

Realizing she had nearly forgotten to call her mother as promised, Moira tip-toed barefoot down the stairs and into the kitchen where she had been shown the landline for use for calling home. The house creaked and groaned as it settled for the night, but otherwise she was fairly certain Luka had put Angela to bed and was now asleep himself, or at least retired for the evening, and so when her mother picked up she talked quietly, explaining everything that had happened.

She was quick with the call; her mother wanted to know every little detail of everything but Moira feared the international call charges and wouldn’t let her mother push the call past five minutes. As she bid her mother good night, told her she loved her, and hung up the phone she heard a small voice behind her that made her jump, “Who was that?”

Angela was standing in the doorway to the kitchen in her pajamas with a blanket tied around her neck like a superhero’s cape. Moira sighed, “Ah, sorry if I was being too loud. I just had to call me mother.”

“You talk weird.”

Moira grimaced. Angela wasn’t teasing or accusatory, she stated it as plainly as if she were saying it was currently nighttime or that some cows are brown, but Moira still didn’t care much for her accent. She felt people with thick accents, except perhaps an English accent, weren’t taken as seriously in academia. She had made up her mind to shake it, but it was not going well. She hoped her time abroad would help, but it was off to a rough start and she knew her accent was thick.

“I’m from Ireland, that’s how we speak there,” Moira explained in a similar matter-of-fact tone, but she did a better job at curbing her accent this time.

“Oh.” Angela kept staring for a few moments while Moira shifted uncomfortably, still dressed like an idiot, sportcoat and braces and all.

“My mama died when I was three.  In the war far away.”

 _Is she trying to make this as terrible on me as possible? Is that her game?_ Moira grimaced, “Yes, your da told me that. S-sorry.”

Angela paused a moment, as if thinking, then shrugged, “I’m happy you’re here. You seem nice and I like the way you talk. Good night.” She turned immediately and exited the kitchen, leaving Moira standing in the moonlight, feeling fairly perplexed. Did she do alright? It seems like she did alright?

After a moment she sighed and returned upstairs herself to finish getting ready for bed.

* * *

 

The coming days were busy and exciting for Moira, finally able to stretch her legs academically in the real world. She wasn’t doing research, of course, but when Dr. Ziegler needed background on his own research he would assign Moira to do a literature review and let her loose in his study where she found floor-to-ceiling collections of obscure medical journals to supplement computer-based files. When she followed him at the Grand Rounds he included her in the discussion along with the medical students, and allowed her to ask questions, though Moira rarely did. In the clinic she fell into the role of a medical scribe, helping him code his appointments and listening to his insight after each patient visit.

On Wednesdays and weekends Dr. Ziegler would let Moira do what she wanted as he would take Angela on outings or play outside with her. It was touching, Moira thought, but more than that she appreciated it for the solitude it gave her. After the first few suggestions to go to the rec center and meet others her age, Dr. Ziegler stopped trying to help Moira socialize and seemed to accept she was in his study reading periodicals because she wanted to be, not because she had nowhere else to go.

For the most part Moira did not interact with Angela, which was fine with Moira. If she somehow remedied the child’s loneliness she was unware of how, as the girl seemed only interested in playing with her toys or with her father. She was also already a skilled reader, apparently, and Moira frequently saw her reading to herself and envied the girl for growing up in a quiet home without four boys fighting around her at all times.

The girl seemed to like being alone, or at least didn’t seem to want to spend much of her time around Moira, and so it came as a surprise when she approached Moira one Wednesday in the mid-morning. Moira was sitting in Dr. Ziegler’s chair behind his desk in the study, her reading glasses perched on her nose, taking notes from a paper on the current efforts to map the human genome. It seems great progress was being made; she was worried there might be nothing left for her to do when she finished her studies. It made her all the more determined to work harder.

But not this day, apparently, as Angela walked up to the desk and stood quietly until Moira raised her eyes and acknowledged her, “Hello? Did you need something, Angela?”

“Papa went to help someone who is sick and can’t get out of bed,” Angela explained, “But he promised to take me for ice cream today. Will you take me, Moira?”

Moira blinked. She could. That is, there’s nothing stopping her from doing it, and she didn’t technically need to finish this today. But she did not feel comfortable. She considered saying she was too busy, but the thought of Angela walking away with a disappointed droop in her shoulders made her even more uncomfortable. She sat down her pen and placed her note paper between the pages of the journal, taking off her glasses as she nodded, “Alright, if you know where the ice cream parlor is.”

Angela smiled widely and immediately ran off. Moira could hear her bounding up the stairs and presumed she was getting her shoes, and she chose this time to take stock of her own attire. She had prepared for this trip with the mindset that it would be all business, and so _she_ would be all business as well. She had no casual “going for ice cream” clothes, only a combination of slacks, button-downs, braces, two pairs of brogues (one black, one brown, she wore the black ones now to match her black slacks and white shirt), a few different jackets and coats, a small selection of tie and vest combinations and, well, that was it. No t-shirt, no sweater, no tank-top. She sighed. At least she wouldn’t fetch a sport coat, that much she could avoid, and so she waited at the front door in her slacks, collared shirt, tie, and braces and hoped Angela didn’t comment on her outfit.

Quickly Angela came bounding back down the stairs with white shoes in hand and pulled them on at the door, then held her hand out for Moira to take. Moira took it with some trepidation. She didn’t mind holding the child’s hand, but her tiny fingers made Moira’s long, spindly fingers feel very awkward as the joined hands and walked outside into the crisp, bright summer’s day.

“So what kind of ice cream are you going to get?’ Moira asked conversationally as they walked down the drive, thankful she had exchanged some of her pounds for francs at the airport.

“Chocolate!” Angela answered immediately, “It’s the best. I love chocolate. What are you going to get, Moira?”

“I don’t know, I hear the chocolate’s good,” Moira smiled, finding this child more pleasant to be around than most.

“Ja, it is!” Angela confirmed and began swinging their hands forward and backwards as they walked. It felt strange to Moira, especially since she towered over the girl, but she did her best to keep up the motion. After a few moments of silence Angela looked up at Moira, “Papa says you’re going to be a doctor and that you came here so you can learn to be a good doctor.”

Moira considered if it was worth explaining to a six year old the difference between an MD and a PhD. She also considered if she would maybe get a joint degree with the MD after all, as her experiences with Dr. Ziegler had been very interesting, “Yes, I want to study how bodies work, and what they can do.”

“So you’re going to help people like papa?”

Moira gave a half-shrug, “Maybe. I don’t want to hurt anyone. I just want to understand. There’s a lot we still don’t know about how bodies work, and why we’re all different even though we’re all humans. I just want to find out.”

Angela seemed to consider this for a minute, then gave an exaggerated nod which Moira thought could convey understanding or approval. Angela turned back forward, and continued swinging their hands, “I’m going to be a doctor, too. I’m going to help make people better, like Mama and Papa.”

“Your ma was a doctor too?” Moira hadn’t heard much about the late Mrs., well apparently the late Dr. Ziegler. She understood that it was not her business to pry into her mentor’s personal affairs, and it made no difference to her.

“Ja, papa and mama met being doctors for soldiers. Papa said they were a doctor team,” Angela frowned, “When the fighting started again Mama went to help the hurt soldiers, but she didn’t come back. I don’t remember it though. I just know that’s why she isn’t coming back.”

Moira instinctively gripped the girl’s hand a little tighter in what she hoped was a comforting gesture, even though Angela didn’t seem very fazed. Indeed, her age would mean she probably had very little memory of her mother at all. Perhaps it made it easier, “I’m sure she was a great doctor.”

“Ja. But when I’m grown up and I’m a doctor like you, we’ll be a doctor team, too, right, Moira?” She beamed up at the older girl.

“Um, maybe?” Moira didn’t know what to say, and she certainly hadn’t expected this girl she’d barely spoken with to want to be her ‘doctor teammate.’ Then again, if this girl was lonely, who else would she have to befriend? Oh well, there was no harm in indulging her, “We can do that, if ye want to when ye grow up.”

Angela gave another matter-of-fact nod as they neared the main village, and pointed to a small schoolhouse that they could see rising on the hill on the opposite edge of the town, “I go to school there, but papa says when I’m older I’ll travel for school. I think that sounds fun. Like you, right Moira? You came here for school.”

“Aye, sort of,” Moira explained, “It’s not really school, I just follow your da around and learn about what he does. Do you like school?” Moira thought back to her own school. She still had one year of secondary school left when she returned from this summer placement, and she dreaded it with every inch of her body. The teachers? Imbeciles. The course curriculum? Elementary. The assignments? Uninspired. And the students? _Ugh. The worst part._ Moira doubted they’d be any different here, one of the main reasons she avoided the rec center in favor of studies.

“My friends go to school with me, so I like school,” Angela explained, and Moira secretly hoped that that remained true for Angela for a long time to come, “But sometimes it’s boring when papa already taught me stuff. I’m reading chapter books now.”

“I saw,” Moira acknowledged with sincerity, “You’re very smart, Angela, you have great potential. You’ll be a famous doctor someday.”

Angela beamed up at her again, then pointed down the street to the left, “It’s this way.”

While Moira had come to the clinic with Luka several times so far this summer she had not really explored the village. She did not know anyone, and she did not speak German or French. Dr. Ziegler had explained in their early letters that this was not a problem; in the winter many foreign tourists, mostly from England and America, visited the town on ski vacations and so most people spoke fluent English as well, though he warned her they might find her accent difficult to understand. All the same, she’d not bothered to wander the streets on her own, and this outing was her first time looking in the shop windows and nodding politely to people they passed on the street.

Most people seemed to recognize Angela, and waved and greeted the girl as they saw her, and she did so in return. Moira felt more cheery than she had expected when she first left the study, this was quite enjoyable. When they rounded a corner at Angela’s behest, however, Moira cringed internally. Sitting in front of what surely was the ice cream parlor looked like a small group of teenagers about her age, talking and laughing with one another. She tried to shake off her discomfort and continued chatting with Angela about what ice cream the girl wanted. As they reached the shop she noted that the conversation of the teenagers became a bit hushed and she felt eyes on her back as she held the door open for Angela to go through, but the others spoke in German and she could make out no words. She was happy when the door swung shut behind them.

Angela immediately went to the small freezer case a few steps from the door. The shop was small, with a table and two chairs for customers inside (three more tables and accompanying chairs sat outside with the teenagers) and a small freezer case. Angela was already eyeing the chocolate ice cream, and Moira spotted vanilla, strawberry, butter pecan, and mint or pistachio, she couldn’t be certain. At the sound of the tinkling bell above the door the shop attendant emerged from a back room, a very pretty girl of about sixteen with long brown hair tied back in a ponytail and wearing a plain grey t-shirt and jeans.

She didn’t seem to notice Angela bouncing in front of the ice cream case at first, and her eyes moved up and down the strange red-headed figure in front of the counter. Moira presumed it was because she clearly wasn’t from around here that the girl knew to ask in English, “What can I get you, sir?”

Moira visibly cringed. She hated this. There was nothing that made her more uncomfortable than being misgendered. Rarely could she tell if it were on purpose, sometimes she was certain it was done intentionally to _make sure she knew_ she looked different. Other times, even when it was clear it was an accident, she hated the awkwardness both parties felt when the truth came out, but with her voice she couldn’t hide it.  It was times like these she wished she were a foot shorter, fuller in the chest and hips. She knew she didn’t do any favors standing here in straight cut slacks and braces.

She pointed awkwardly at Angela, who was looking back at Moira. Rather than placing her ice cream order, Angela was also looking at Moira, “Tell her you’re a girl, Moira.”

 _I am in hell._ “Ah, twas an honest mistake,” Moira said, though she wasn’t sure if that were case at all. She shrugged and didn’t look at the shop girl while she stepped up behind Angela and placed her hands on the girl’s shoulders, “Now, ye wanted chocolate, aye?”

Angela’s attention diverted to her ice cream dreams, she quickly requested two scoops of chocolate ice cream in a sprinkle cone, forcing Moira to address the girl behind the counter. She looked up, feeling the girl’s eyes on her awkwardly, “That’ll be _one_ scoop of chocolate ice cream in the special cone, and one vanilla in a plain cone too, please.”

Angela turned her face into a pout but said nothing as the girl scooped their ice cream into the cones. Moira handed Angela her cone, then took her own in hand. Awkwardly she tried to one-hand her wallet out of her pocket and fetch the amount of money the girl asked for. As Moira struggled with her wallet she heard the girl snicker, and when she looked up the girl was looking out the window. When Moira looked too she saw the teenagers still out there. She couldn’t tell what they had been doing, but it was clear from context it was something she likely would have taken offense to, and it was something about her. She scowled and laid the money on the counter. “Thanks,” she grunted, and motioned toward the door, “We’ll eat on the way home, Angela.”

“Aw, but I want to sit outside,” Angela protested as she walked through the door Moira held for her, pausing to take a lick of her ice cream cone before continuing, “Papa says I can’t eat ice cream and walk at the same time or I’ll drop it on the ground like all those other times.”

Moira couldn’t help but grin, but she still felt uncomfortable. She didn’t want to rush Angela on her short legs, but she wanted to be out of here. The teenagers had gone silent except for whispers and chuckles among them as soon as they had exited the shop, and she felt their eyes on her as she walked past them. She heard one mutter something clearly directed at her under their breath, but as she did not speak German she could take no real offense. She compromised with the girl, “We’ll walk to the benches outside the clinic, and eat there, alright?”

This seemed satisfactory to Angela, who all the same did manage to walk all the way there without dropping her ice cream. Moira felt much more comfortable sitting on the wooden bench outside Dr. Ziegler’s clinic. It was _her_ territory, she was safe from those spanners here.

Angela happily licked at her ice cream cone, but Moira could feel she was unapologetically staring right at her. She didn’t acknowledge it, it didn’t bother her half as much as the other stares, and instead she glared at the street sign across the street, imagining she could make it burst into smoke with just her thoughts.

“I don’t like them either,” Angela finally spoke up with a matter-of-fact report of her opinions.

Moira shifted uncomfortably, feeling the uneaten cone of ice cream in her hand beginning to soften. She knew it was no use trying to hide her annoyance, “You know them?”

“No, they go to the high school across the street from my school. They know papa,” Angela explained, pausing every few words to lap up some melting ice cream. Moira wasn’t sure if she liked that they knew Dr. Ziegler, but she wasn’t sure why that would bother her. It was a small town, it would be hard for people not to know one another.

“Then why don’t you like them?” Moira asked dully, finally opting to try her ice cream for want of anything better to occupy her antsy hands. It was okay. She wished she’d gotten chocolate.

“Because they were laughing at us, and that’s not nice.” Angela explained, “We didn’t do anything mean to them, they were mean for no reason, and that’s not nice.”

Moira considered asking Angela what they had been saying in German, but decided it was probably something she shouldn’t be asking a six year old to repeat back or define. She continued eating her ice cream in silence and reflected on the similar nature of teenagers around the world. Angela kept talking to her about her favorite chapter books and how much she wanted a bicycle for Christmas this year and all sorts of other things, and eventually Moira had nearly forgotten the incident at the shop. Their ice cream finished and the day moving along, Moira stood and held out her hand for Angela, “Shall we go back home then?”

That evening when Dr. Ziegler asked what Angela had done while he was away he was thankful to Moira for taking the girl to the ice cream shop, and he passed her a few more francs than the ice cream had cost, though she tried to decline at first. Moira was thankful that Angela didn’t bring up the incident with the teenagers to her father, and when Moira called home that night she didn’t tell her own mother either.

* * *

 

The summer was nearly half over, and Moira was fully enjoying herself with the Zieglers. She had begun reading the more worn and creased periodicals heavier, realizing that those were ones which featured heaviest in Luka’s work, and so they had much to talk about when they were traveling to and from the clinic and the hospital in Zurich. She had learned, though, that it was better to ask about the papers with the German annotations, the papers marked up in French had been marked by the late Dr. Ziegler and Luka had less expertise in the area, and the conversation would some time come to a lull quickly after Moira’s inquiry. But there was plenty to read and talk about, and so she avoided returning to town on her free days, returning to the study instead.

Luka began being called away more and more on what should have been days off. Moira would insist on accompanying him on house calls, but he seemed just as insistent that she stay home, and that he would update her on the patient’s progress when he returned. Soon enough Moira realized that he likely needed her to stay and look after Angela more than he wanted to force her to take her rest days. And that was okay. Angela spent more time around Moira now, but she was mostly quiet, sitting in the alcove under the window reading to herself while Moira sat across the room at the desk. Sometimes Moira would hear a murmur and look up to see Angela sounding out difficult words to herself. She always got them on her own, and never asked for help. Moira found it endearing, and found she was quite fond of Angela. She’d never had sisters growing up, and had rarely gotten along well with girls in her own village. She was happy to know girls like Angela were in the world.

Which is why it was all the more exasperating when Angela piped up from her spot below the window, “Can we go to the game place today, Moira?”

“Game place?” Moira didn’t look up from her reading, and scrawled a few more notes down into her own notebook.

“You know, we can bowl and play games and have hüppen.” Angela explained, then took a deep gasping breath like she’d just remembered a fact about the game place, “We can skate! Moira, I want to go skating.” Angela had bounded up from the floor and was standing with her hands on the desk, eyeing Moira pleadingly as she rocked back and forth on her feet with excitement.

Moira hid her grimace with her hand as she reached up to take off her reading glasses, then straightened from her position hunched over the desk. She regarded Angela, fidgeting excitedly, for a moment, trying to determine the best way to say no without upsetting the girl. She had never seen Angela throw a tantrum, true, but she also hadn’t ever had her ask for something with this much excitement. It was a precarious position.

 _No, Angela, I can’t be arsed to spend a fine day like today in a noisy, child-ridden recreation center while a bunch of arseholes talk and laugh behind my back, go back to your books._ Moira explained calmly, “I have no skates, and no bowling shoes. Perhaps your father will take you on Saturday.”

“They have shoes and skates there that you can borrow,” Angela assured her, “Pleeeeeeeeeeeease, Moiiiiiiraaaaaaaaaaaaa.” She wasn’t crying, or whining, just begging. It was almost cute, but it was too effective for Moira’s tastes.

With an exasperated sigh she checked the clock on the wall. It was already afternoon, she could easily take her for a little while and then say it was getting too late and they’d have to leave soon. Then she wouldn’t have said no, but she’d not have to stay. That seemed a reasonable course of action. Before she even was halfway through, “Okay, get your shoes,” Angela had shot out the room and bounded up the stairs to her bedroom.

Moira looked down at herself. She was certain her manner of dress did her no favors at the ice cream parlor. She had no real options, but she could make do with what she had, at least. The shoes were pointless to worry about, she had no others and with a scowl she realized she might need to wear _borrowed_ shoes if she actually indulged Angela beyond just escorting her. Slacks were slacks, not much to be done about those. But she shucked off her vest and unclipped her braces from her waistband, leaving them in a small, neat pile on the side of the desk. She’d not bothered with a tie that morning, and simply undid the top two buttons of her button down and untucked the entire thing. She walked into the hall where a mirror hung on the wall and appraised her work. With disgust, she wrinkled her nose. She looked like a slob.

She could still hear Angela throwing things around upstairs, apparently struggling to find her shoes. With bemusement she noticed the girl’s shoes sitting neatly beside the front door. That would buy her some time to fix this mess, at least.

She hurried back into the study, tucking in her shirt and rebuttoning it. She affixed the braces and pulled on the vest, smoothing down her collar again as she approached the mirror. Yes, back to normal. _If they can’t be arsed to look like civilized folk, that’s their doing. No need for you to stoop to their level, Moira. You still have your dignity._ “Your shoes are down here,” Moira called up the stairs, and Angela appeared in a flash and began tugging them on.

Moira enjoyed this walk significantly less than the last, but she tried to shake off the dread of running into any unsavory characters again, and instead she and Angela talked about Angela’s favorite subjects in school. It was clear to Moira that Angela was far beyond most children her age; she wasn’t sure if it was Luka’s teaching or if Angela had a natural aptitude, but she presumed it was both. She worried that Angela would become bored in her small town with their limited school resources someday, but for now the girl seemed satisfied with her education.

The village recreation center was large, single-story building that seemed several decades old, and well-used at that. Metal double doors along the front face were flung over, and sounds of bowling pins being knocked down, people talking and laughing, and rock music were pouring into the street. Moira did some quick math in her head. If 10-15% of the average population in a developed nation was adolescents and the population was in the mid-700s then there would be _maybe_ 60 kids between the ages of 15 and 19 in the village, and certainly most of them wouldn’t be here in the middle of the afternoon?

Ugh. It wasn’t that she was antisocial, or automatically hated her peers, but more that those her age never really seemed to be _peers._ The majority of them were idiots, and those who she could stand to talk to rarely shared her interests, and somehow, despite the mismatch going in two directions, she always came out feeling like the offending party. No, she preferred to stay back at Dr. Ziegler’s home and read just to avoid problems. Honestly she’d found it more enjoyable to be in Angela’s company than most people her age, because at least Angela was quiet, smart, and kind.

She could already hear voices of other young people as they approached the doors, and some were outside smoking in the area around the doors. They didn’t seem to notice Angela and Moira, or they didn’t care if they did notice. It was much darker inside, and it took Moira’s eyes a moment to adjust. What Luka had said was correct, it was a watered down version of several things. While she knew little about bowling she could presume the two lanes against the far wall were too short to be regulation, and she could see an active young boy around 13 scrambling to manually reset the pins for both lanes after every ball. The skating rink in the center of the huge open plan was large enough that one could skate the loop without becoming dizzy, but only just so, and with seven people already skating in a counter-clockwise circle around the smooth floor the area seemed quite crowded. In the back corner Moira could see flashing lights and could hear the cacophony of a small arcade. Directly to their left was a counter, which looped around in a large L shape across the front side of the center. From the signage it would seem that this register, at which an older man with a bit of a paunch and a friendly face stood and smiled at them as they entered, was for skate and bowling shoe rental and reserving bowling lanes, while if you moved further down there was a food counter and she could see a few people behind the counter preparing orders.

It was pretty busy, Moira was displeased to see, but Angela didn’t seem to be bothered as she took Moira’s hand and pulled her toward the man at the counter. As they reached the counter the man smiled at Moira and looked down at Angela with an even bigger smile,

“Hallo frau Angela, was kann ich heute für dich und deinen freund tun?” he asked, and while Moira did not understand the question she noted he knew Angela’s name. Or a German word sounded a lot like Angela. Moira wasn’t certain.

“Wir würden gerne skaten, bitte. Meine Schuhgröße beträgt elfeinhalb, denke ich. Oh, einen moment bitte,” Angela responded sweetly, and then turned up to look at Moira, “What size skate do you wear, Moira?”

“Ah,” Moira scratched the back of her head, careful not to mess her hair, “I will just watch you skate, it’s crowded out there, and I don’t really like skating.”

Angela frowned up at her, and Moira was afraid they would argue about this, but it seems Angela decided to pick her battles, and she turned back to the man and continued speaking for a moment. The man handed child-sized skates to Moira, who handed them down to Angela and placed the skate rental fee outlined on the print-out taped to the table to the man. She nodded her thanks to the man, who smiled brightly, and she left Angela lead her to a pair of plain plastic chairs.

“Do you need help getting your skates on?” Moira offered. She really didn’t know what to do at this point. Obviously she had to stay here while Angela skated, and should watch her in case she should fall or someone should start bothering her, but she felt very out of place. She was _not_ babysitter material, that was one of the lessons she would take away from her summer abroad.

Angela shook her head, and indeed she was quick to lace up the skates and stand, a bit wobbly at first, but she found her balance quick enough. She skated quickly over to the border of the rink and turned back to hand her shoes to Moira, pointing to a small line of cubbies with many shoes already filling them, “Can you put these away, Moira? I’m going to skate for a while. I’m really good and can go really fast, watch!”

The girl was off like a shot and Moira mumbled quietly “Be careful” because she’s pretty sure that’s what she should say in this situation, but Angela wouldn’t have heard. She shoved the girl’s shoes into a cubby and watched Angela make a few laps. Angela waved at her the first few times she swung around, and Moira awkwardly waved back, but soon Angela seemed to be in her own world. It amused Moira how seriously Angela seemed to take it, like she was on a mission of some sort known only to her. After a few moments Moira looked around the room again. If anyone cared about the lanky red-head who looked far too overdressed for a bowling alley no one seemed to indicate it, and that suited her just fine. She relaxed a bit.

The music wasn’t very good, and most of the conversations around her were in German so it was easy to tune-out. Angela was clearly in her own world herself, and soon Moira began to grow bored. Her eyes fell on the food service counter, and it occurred to her Angela would probably be thirsty from all the activity, and she could use a drink as well.

As she waited in line behind a pair of boys about ten years old Moira spotted the draft taps. Her brothers had assured her that in Switzerland, like in Ireland, she would be able to get beer but not liquor. She had stared them down and insisted that _her_ travels were not world tours of fraternization and parties and she was going to learn, and would not be drinking. But, she realized, she also hadn’t been expecting to be escorting a six year old to a roller rink. It had been an age since she’d had a drink, and the very thought appealed far more than she expected it to.

“Nächste!” Even in German, the word ‘next’ was recognizable, and Moira side-stepped the boys in front of her to speak to a different counter employee. Moira’s heart fell into her stomach as she came eye to eye with a girl she definitely recognized from outside of the ice cream shop.

It was different this time, though. The girl gave a friendly smile toward Moira and motioned her to wak closer to the bar. “You and the doctor’s kid were getting ice cream last week, ja?” Her voice was sweet, and it made Moira uneasy, but she nodded anyway, “Was wondering if we’d see you here eventually. What can I get for you?”

“Uh, a bottle of water and a Guinness, please.” Moira responded, already pulling out her ID.

The girl took it and looked it over for a long while, “Ireland, huh? Well that explains the cute hair and accent,” she winked at Moira as she handed it back to her, and Moira felt her cheeks burn, she prayed it was too dark to tell. The girl set to work grabbing a bottle of water from a container of ice, and began filling a pint for Moira.

“Yeah, I’m visiting for, uh, work,” Moira didn’t know how to explain her position with Dr. Ziegler, especially if English was not this woman’s first language, but work seemed the most similar. She took the cool bottle of water in hand and tried not to watch the girl too closely. She was probably about Moira’s age, maybe a year younger. No younger than that, Moira noted, or she’d probably not be allowed to serve alcohol. She had long brown hair in a big braid which fell behind her head and Moira could not see where it stopped, and she wore a plain black polo shirt which seemed to be the “uniform” of the establishment.

“Sorry if my friends bothered you the other day,” she smiled kindly as she set the glass on the counter and pushed it across to Moira, “They can be real idiots.”

 _I noticed._ “It’s, ah, it’s fine. I don’t speak German, if they said something to me I didn’t hear it.”

“My name’s Sara, by the way, Moira,” Her voice was sweet, almost teasing, and Moira panicked that she knew her name, before realizing she’d just been studying her identification. As she accepted Moira’s money and returned the change she leaned forward a bit, adding quietly, “You should come back later, after you take her home. I get off at 5 come, right before then. The next one’s on me.”

Moira nearly dropped the pint in her hand, and her mouth went dry and useless. She swallowed hard, “Um, I’ll try?” Without knowing what else to do, she turned on her heel and took the drinks back to the little plastic chair. _What the feck was that?!_ Moira’s mind was reeling as she took a large gulp from her glass and then stared down into the suds, eyes wild she was sure.

That was flirting, right? The girl was _hitting on her?_ That didn’t happen, never. Sure, a very small factor in why Moira presented herself the way she did was that she hoped one day maybe someone would pick up on . . . But she wasn’t even subtle, there wasn’t even a second meaning. If Moira came back tonight without Angela . . . _ugh what is happening?_

Angela. Moira’s eyes shot to the rink, and she was relieved her distraction had not been problematic, Angela was still skating in circles, though she seemed a bit slower, and her shoulders were hunched now. Soon afterward Angela caught her eye and skated out of the rink to fall into a chair beside Moira. Moira handed her the water, “Having fun?”

Angela noded and took a big drink from the bottle, “Thank you for the water, Moira. Thank you for coming with me.” Her eyes fell on Moira’s glass, “Can I have some of yours?”

“Oh, uh, no,” Moira said apologetically, and thought for a moment before throwing her head back and draining the remaiing ¾ of the pint in a few large gulps. Somewhere behind her she heard someone give a victorious ‘whoop!’ cry as she finished it up, and she made a mental note that people here probably didn’t drink like they drank back home.

Angela pouted, certain Moira was hogging all of the soda to herself, but she just slumped back in her chair and continued to drink her water.

“How much longer do you want to stay, Angela?” Moira was suddenly feeling very antsy. She was certain the girl at the bar was watching her back, and she didn’t know if she wanted to get away from Sara just to be away, never to return, or if she wanted to drop Angela off at home as quick as she could so she could return.

Angela shrugged, “My feet are tired and we still have to walk home. We can go now,” Angela looked imploringly at Moira, “Unless you want to come skate with me now? I can skate more if you want to skate with me?”

If Moira wasn’t interested in skating before, she was vehemently opposed to it now, where she might make an embarrassment of herself in front of the first girl who ever . . . Moira shook her head, “No, I don’t think I want to skate today, maybe some other time. I’ll go get your shoes while you take off your skates.”

As they returned the skates to the man behind the desk Moira chanced a glance at Sara, who looked back at her, waved, and winked, and Moira’s face was bright red as they exited the rec center into the bright sun.

* * *

“If you wanted to stay and skate why didn’t you skate with me?” Angela pouted at Moira as the older girl sat on the side of her bed, a different tie in each hand, a look of consternation on her face. Angela had been taking a nap after returning from the rec center, but had plodded angrily into Moira’s room a few minutes ago after she’d overheard Moira discussing her plans to return to town with Dr. Ziegler.

“Because, I’m not going to skate,” Moira mumbled as she crumpled a tie in each hand. Who was she kidding? There’s nothing she could wear that would make her look ‘cool’ by normal standards. She pulled long, thin black necktie from her bag and held it against her white button-down to be sure it worked with the grey slacks and vest and the black braces and shoes. _Timeless, yeah, like da always said?_ Without many better options, Moira set about tying the tie around her neck, “I talked to someone while you were skating and they asked me to come back, that’s all, I’m going to talk to them.”

Which is basically what she had told Luka as well, that she had met a friend who wanted to hang out that evening and she was hoping it was alright with him if she went. It was Saturday and the next day would be her day off, and he was happy to see her finally being more sociable and make some friends her own age, so he had no problem with it and welcomed the change. He offered her the use of his car, but Moira was not accustomed to driving and felt the walk would do her good, keep her head clear. If he caught the way her voice hitched when she said it was a girl who wanted to see her, and if he cared to speculate on Moira’s interest, he did not indicate it and Moira tried not to think about that too much.

“I can change my clothes and come with you,” Angela insisted, but Moira shook her head, “Why not, Moiraaaaa?”

“Because ye can’t, right?” Moira was a bit more gruff than she meant to be, but she was already on edge and Angela whining at her was not helping.  The gruffness did the trick, however, and Angela made a little whimpering sound and whispered a quiet ‘okay’ as she slumped off Moira’s bed and left back to her own room.

Moira felt guilty for a minute, but reminded herself she was not in Switzerland to be the girl’s caretaker. Angela would survive one missed trip to the rec center. Besides, Moira would be shite company, she was all nerves. She walked into the bathroom and stared at herself in the mirror. She was pale with anxiety, her freckles too apparent against the white skin around them. She washed her face, made sure her hair was in place, and that she looked alright.

 _You’re being a wanker, Moira,_ she said to herself, _She just wants to make up for her eejit friends, this isn’t a—a date._ Moira ran her long fingers up and down her face, careful not to mess her hair, and pushed away from the vanity. Well, only one way to see what the night held for her.

* * *

 

Angela had been sitting at the top of the stairs with a pouting demeanor when Moira had walked stiffly past her and out the door. Moira would have felt bad if she could feel anything but anxiety right now, but she could not. She was nearly there; the sun was dipping lower but it was not so late to be evening yet, but it was nearly 4:45 as she took a deep breath and stepped into the rec center. It was still noisy, though the crowd had become more mixed, with a few older couples here and there. She scanned the employees behind the bar and spotted Sara talking to a boy across the bar, one of the others from the ice cream shop. She hesitated, and her palms were sweaty. What to do, what to do . . .

Sara spotted her standing awkwardly near the door, and didn’t make any move to actually call her over. She turned to say something to the man leaning against the counter as Moira walked a bit too quickly for her tastes over to them, and nodded at the young man, who raised his chin in greeting, “Hey,” his accent was thick, but Moira understood, and nodded back a hello.

“What can I get you?” Sara said flatly, her sickly sweet smile from earlier now absent. Moira wasn’t sure what was happening, but she was sure it was not good.

“Uh . . . Guinness?” Moira coughed out. An uncomfortable tension hung between the three of them as Sara silently served the drink.

“Four francs,” Sara said plainly as she pushed the glass toward Moira.

 _I guess she forgot the drink on me thing,_ Moira said to herself, but she was not so stupid to think that whatever was happening here was a simple mistake. She pulled out her wallet and passed four francs across the table and took the glass. She stood silently for a moment, looking down in the glass, not sure what to do or say.

“Well?” The guy at the bar asked with a laugh, “Piss off, mannweib, my girlfriend and I were in the middle of a conversation.”

A ‘tsk’ sound came from Sara, but she said nothing and when Moira’s eyes flicked to hers she seemed wholly disinterested in Moira’s predicament. As Moira nodded into her beer and turned on her heels to walk away, she heard both of them laughing, and she heard Sara whisper something in German, earning a hardy laugh from the man. Moira stood up straight, fighting the urge to slump her shoulders and slink off, and walked stiffly to the first open seat she saw, one of the little plastic chairs that looked toward the roller rink. She sat down and took a small sip of her drink, suddenly thankful it had been poured in her full view. She felt absolutely crushed.

She hated herself more than she hated the girl. She was so stupid to get invested in this, to think this could be a _date._ Stupid stupid stupid. In self-pity she nursed her drink for half an hour, long enough to be sure that Sara and her boyfriend had left. Not feeling like doing anything but crawling in a hole and dying, Moira ordered a second round for herself, and finished that in the following half hour. Was she gone long enough that she could return home without being gone for a suspiciously short period of time? She thought so. She sniffed at herself. She didn’t smell too much of beer, either. Now was a good time to stop.

She pushed herself up from her uncomfortable plastic chair and stretched her neck from side to side with a groan. If anyone had taken notice of the dejected-looking Irish woman sitting by herself they hadn’t said anything to her, and Moira exited the rec center into a fairly cool night for the time of year. She wished she’d brought a jacket after all.

The moon was bright in the sky and even as she exited the village her way was fairly well-lit along the road. She shoved her hands into her pockets and walked with only a hint of a sway from her drinking. Her brogues crunched along the gravel at the roadside with each step, and the sound was joined by her own quiet, forlorn whistling. She didn’t bother to strike a tune, she just wanted to hear the sound of something other than the empty night.

She diligently moved further onto the shoulder as headlights approached from behind her. She was so deeply lost in chiding herself mercilessly that she barely had time to fall to the side as the motorist sped up next to her. She was fairly certain she wouldn’t have been hit even if she hadn’t have moved, but the roadside gravel sprayed over her as she fell to the ground and the car came to a sudden halt.

The headlights blazed brightly in her face, she couldn’t see the car or driver, only the light, but she heard the car doors open and shoes on gravel.

“Don’t worry, I’m, uh, I’m fine,” She coughed out, taking stock of her bloodied palms where she’d caught herself from smashing bodily into the ground, hoping the reckless driver would leave once he knew he hadn’t hurt her. Truly there was no grievous harm done.

“Nein,” Was the gruff response she heard from the direction of the blazing light, and a silhouette loomed above her, filling her vision with shadow. He bent down, and Moira felt two strong hands take hold of the front of her shirt, hauling her unceremoniously up to her feet.

Moira opened her mouth to insist she was fine, that she was just walking home and got a little stumbly, but choked on her words as finally the new height brought the situation into view. The young man from the recreation center, the one talking to Sara, and another of his friends from the ice cream parlor. Moira had but a moment to register their faces and choke out a “No, wait—“ before Sara’s boyfriend continued his rough handling, whirling around an throwing her so that she fell back against the hood of his car with a loud bang.  

The friend moved around the passenger side and stood so that they both boxed her in, though she’d had the wind so thoroughly knocked out of her she doubted she could run even if he hadn’t. “Wohin gehst du, mannweib? Hast du ein aufregendes date?” The friend said in a taunting voice.

“P-please,” Moira choked out, trying to push herself up onto the hood of the car, anything to put space between them. If she got fully onto the car maybe she could roll off the side and run, “I don’t speak German. S-spreche nicht, spreche nicht!”

“Ah, look at that, she doesn’t speak German,” Boyfriend grabbed out at her, and caught her collar again, dragging her back to inches from his face, “Leon, wie sagt man ‘mannweib?’”

Leon grunted, “Dyke.”

“Ah, yes, that’s it, dyke,” Boyfriend sneered, though it was difficult for Moira to see as they were all lit from the headlights below and and behind her, and her head was swimming and she was filled with panic. _Not this. Not this._ She raised her hands to try to push Boyfriend off, and began wildly kicking with her feet. The men laughed, “What’s wrong, dyke? Dress like a man but can’t fight like one?”

Moira didn’t know what else to do, and gave in to her angry impulse and with all her might she spit into his face. Boyfriend cursed something in German, and Leon laughed which made Boyfriend all the angrier. Moira regretted her decision as her ears rang and the world swam around her. She’d fought with her brothers when she was younger, yes, but they had never hit her square on, full force in the face. This was something new, something painful, something head-splitting. The light around her dimmed, but she did not sink away, only fell against the car as Boyfriend dropped her after taking his swing, “Dumb bitch,” he grunted as Moira lifted her hand to her face. She could already feel blood, but wasn’t sure if it came from her nose or mouth. She wasn’t even sure where exactly she’d been hit it had happened so fast. After a moment Boyfriend was grabbing her by the back of the collar and pushed her down on the side of the road, where she fell hard on her hands and knees in the dirt, blood and spit dripping onto the ground head of her. Instinctively she made to crawl away, but it was only a moment later she reeled in pain as a stiff workboot met with her ribs, knocking the wind out of her once again. She fell onto her side and tried to curl into a ball.

Leon laughed, and it was the last thing she heard before feeling the crack of a boot to the other side of her face, and the world fell away.

* * *

 

The moon was still high in the sky and climbing higher as Moira’s vision swam back to her. She could feel the gravel on the back of her head, smell the grass around her, and she smelled blood. She reached up her hand, and even doing so hurt. She held her hand in front of her, a few fingers were swollen and bruised. She must have tried to protect her head with her hands. She reached for her face, and still felt the blood, some dry, some still flowing, all over and around her mouth. Her face felt swollen and bruised, and her whole body felt sore. She pushed herself up and looked around. She could see where the gravel was disturbed by the car, and she could see the men had pulled away and driven back toward the village. She was alone. With ringing in her ears and fear gripping her chest she took stock of herself. There was no way to describe the relief that her clothing had clearly not been disturbed save for the kicking she recalled, and the blood and dirt stains which would hopefully wash out. But that was . . . that was fine. It could have been worse, so much worse.

Moira spit onto the gravel, and the red glistened in the moonlight. She pushed herself up off the side of the road and began again to walk, holding her aching ribs as she winced with each step. What was she going to do? Dr. Ziegler would already be asleep, so she could sneak in, clean herself up. But she couldn’t mend herself overnight, couldn’t hide her face for long enough. And she was fairly certain something was broken. Fingers, ribs, nose, take your pick, they were all likely candidates. _Fucking culchies._ Moira spit again as blood pooled behind her lower lip, but the very act made her hurt all the more and she resolved not to spit anymore.

Time seemed to slow down and each wincing step seemed to count a minute or more, but she finally saw the porch light of the Ziegler home ahead. She was thankful that seemed to be the only light on. She hobbled quietly up to the house and knelt with only a little groaning to remove her shoes outside. Quietly she crept inside and up the stairs and into her room, and she gingerly laid herself down on her bed. She wanted to bury her face in the pillow, but knew the pain it would bring, so she turned her face to the side, and watched the moon through the windows, and tried to calm herself. Slowly she willed herself to breathe evenly, though she could not breathe deeply without lightning through her sides. Her heart rate slowed, and she closed her eyes.

She did not intend to fall asleep, but she must have done so or she’d have heard the footsteps, and the door creak open and shut again. But the first thing she heard was a quiet gasp, and when her eyes shot open she saw a small, pajama-clad girl with sleepy hair and scared eyes gripping the side of her bedspread, “Moira,” Angela whispered with a shaky voice, “What happened?”

“Nothing,” Moira honestly didn’t know what she could say. She didn’t even know what she would tell Luka, let alone a child, about what had happened, “I’m fine, I just need to rest. Go back to sleep, Angela.” Moira knew her face and clothing was caked with blood and dirt, and she had probably swollen up in all sorts of places.

“I’ll go get papa, he’ll help,” Angela assured Moira hurriedly and spun around. She was wearing her blanket as a cape, just as she had the first night Moira had stayed there.

“No, don’t,” Moira jerked up to stop Angela, but groaned and fell back onto the bed as white lightning shot up through her sides and through her head.

Angela stopped and turned her worried face back to Moira, “But . . . you need a doctor, Moira. Papa can help you.”

Moira knew she’d need Luka’s attention eventually, bones may need to be reset even. But she couldn’t bring herself to wake him on her behalf, or to let anyone who didn’t absolutely have to see her in this state. Ah ha, an idea.

“You can help me, can’t you Angela?” Moira said quietly, and tried to smile. It came off as more of a grimace through the blood, “I think I saw a first aid kit under my sink? Go get it?”

Angela took a deep breath and tightened the knot in her blanket and quickly ran into the bathroom. After a few minutes she returned and set the large white box plastic box on the nightstand. She switched on the light, and even the soft glow was enough to make Moira see spots.

“Do you know what to do, Angela?” Moira knew that Angela could do basic first aid like cleaning and dressing small cuts, she’d seen Angela handle herself quite impressively when she skinned her knees playing outside.

Angela nodded, and as she began unpacking things from the first aid kit she whispered softly, “Hold still, Moira, ich bin da.”

Honestly Moira wouldn’t have let Angela do this if she wasn’t so exhausted and thoroughly beaten, physically and emotionally. She doubted Angela could do much more harm than was already done, and actually she seemed to be doing a pretty good job of it. For a child she was fairly precise in her movements, and she _did_ seem to have an aptitude for first aid. Undoubtedly her father had already taught her how to perform basic field dressings, and she did a better job than most of the first year residents that Moira had seen when shadowing Luka in the hospital.

“What happened, Moira?” Angela quietly asked again as she dabbed at Moira’s face with antiseptic. There was apparently a large amount of damage across her left eye socket, perhaps where she had taken the second boot Moira reasoned.

Moira kept her eyes closed and gave a quiet grunt, “Arseholes, that’s all.”

“But _why?_ Why don’t they like us?” Angela’s voice cracked a bit, but she continued to see to Moira’s more superficial wounds.

Moira opened the less injured eye and regarded the girl for a moment, “It’s not us, it’s me. They don’t like me. You’re fine, Angela, you’re safe.”

Angela withdrew her hand and shook her head, “We’re a team, a doctor team, remember?” She put her hands defiantly on her hips, one still gripping bloodied tufts of cotton, “So if they don’t like you then they don’t like me and I don’t like them.”

Moira couldn’t help but smile, and she saw no reason to argue with Angela’s determination, and a more pressing matter was at hand. Whether it was due to being an early riser or they had made more noise than they should have, Moira could hear Luka on his way to check on them. She closed her eyes tightly, readying herself as she invited him in at his knock.

As the door swung open Angela turned with a proud smile toward her father, and Luka gasped at the still fairly rough looking Moira on the bed.

“Mein gott, Moira, what happened to you?” He closed the distance quickly, and kindly but firmly shooed Angela to the side. She frowned a bit, but moved to the other side of the bed, not willing to leave her first ever patient.

Moira’s mind fell on the first thing she could think of that would possibly explain a random, senseless beating by strangers, “I don’t know. Football hooligans?”

Luka frowned, and it occurred to Moira that the Swiss were not so prone to football hooliganism as the UK was. Oh well, she tried. She gave a defeated shrug, “I don’t think the locals like my accent.”

“Who?” Luka asked firmly, angling the bedside lamp to better assess the damage as he sat beside Moira on the bed.

“It’s not important,” Moira said, her tone almost pleading. As their eyes met she was fairly certain Luka knew it was not her accent that caused the foul play, but for whatever reason he saw fit, he apparently did not press it.

“It is important,” He said firmly, palpating the areas around Moira’s nose carefully, “But I can’t force it out of you, and it looks like you’ve been through enough tonight. Oh, Angela, you’re still here. Off to bed with you, you can see Moira in the morning. And really, child, you should have woken me.”

“I asked her not to,” Moira explained, as Angela simultaneously stamped one foot in protest and insisted, “No, Papa, she’s my patient and I’m going to help.”

“I don’t mind if she’s here, she helped me a lot,” Moira gave a wincing smile in the general direction of Angela, and she thought she saw Angela nodding out of the corner of her eye, “She’s a good first responder.”

“Hmmmmm,” Luka said, apparently picking his battles wisely this night. He continued surveying the damage to Moira’s face, arms, and torso.  All the while he reported his findings “to” Angela, as though she were his medical assistant. Moira knew it was more for her benefit than for Angela’s, but she could tell Angela appreciated the inclusion. Her ribs were badly bruised but he was fairly sure they weren’t broken, two of her fingers were likely broken and he could x-ray and set them at the office in the morning, and they would determine the shape of Moira’s nose at the same point. He reported she had a large, vertical laceration across her left orbital, and though thankfully the eye was undamaged, the scar would probably be long-lasting. As an afterthought he gave Moira a warm smile and winked, “It’s okay though, Moira, in my experience women love scars.” Moira had no energy left in her to smile, but she felt warmer, comforted. Dr. Ziegler was a good man with a kind heart.

“Now, First Responder Ziegler, I believe you have thoroughly assisted your patient this evening,” Luka turned to his daughter, who beamed with pride, “We’ll see you here for rounds first thing in the morning. Off to bed with you.”

Angela thought for a minute, then nodded to her next assignment. She rounded the bed to hug her father good night, and only stopped her lunge to hug Moira when Luka physically held her back, warning her not to be too rough. Angela nodded, and awkwardly hugged Moira’s upper arm, then ran off to bed.

After Angela left, Luka closed the door behind her and turned quietly back to Moira, his voice still kind, but his tone more serious, “Moira, should I send for a female nurse from the village? For . . . an assault kit, or emergency medications?”

Moira took in a sharp breath, but shook her head to what degree she could, and said lowly, “No, thank you . . . there’s no need.”

Luka gave a sad smile, “Well, God is good to send us some small mercy.” He laid a strong hand on her shoulder and assured her he would check on her in a few hours, and they would go to the clinic when she was ready. Moira nodded, and fell deeply asleep in her blood-stained clothes.

* * *

 

The morning came warm and bright, and after ensuring she was awake and willing, Dr. Ziegler and Angela reported for “grand rounds.” Angela had apparently found a clipboard with several papers, most which seemed to come from colouring books as far as Moira could spot from her position, and her pen had a fuzzy ball on the end of it. The stood on opposite sides of Moira’s bed.

“Alright, First Responder Ziegler, please begin.” It was clear that Luka was as bemused as Moira by the whole situation, but he tried to present himself professionally, only winking at Moira when Angela looked down at her clipboard.

Angela began in the most professional tone she could muster, “Patient is Moira O’De—O’Deor—O’Dorian,” Moira tried to hide the grimace, “Seventeen year old female from Ireland. Came— _Presented_ to house late at night with lots of cuts on her face. We cleaned her up and her next treatment is at the clinic with Pap—Dr. Ziegler.” She shoved the clipboard under her arm and beamed at the other two with pride.

“Everything seems in order,” Luka nodded, and turned to Moira, “How are you feeling, child? Are you alright to come into the clinic? We should be sure it’s soon in case a bone needs to be set. And we should call your mother, as well.” He looked very dour.

Moira’s voice was hoarse, but she did her best to smile, “I am feeling alright, considering. We can go,” She thought about the idea of telling her mother what had happened. Dr. Ziegler was right, she was still technically a child by law and her mother should be informed of this, but she feared her mother might pull her away before the summer was out. She was equally worried that that was the point, that Luka saw it best for her to be sent away too, “Please, I can call home today but . . . I don’t want to tell her this yet, I don’t want her to worry.” Moira looked down dejectedly, “I don’t want to go home.”

“We can discuss that later,” Luka responded, and from his tone Moira felt assured that he was not seeking to unload her outright, “But for now, let’s get you fixed up so you can come home and rest some more. First Responder Ziegler, I trust that you and Sophie can prepare clean bedding for the patient’s return?”

Angela gave a clumsy salute and ran off down the stairs toward the linen closet. Luka let Moira make her way carefully down the stairs and into the car at her own pace, and as they departed for the clinic Moira prayed she would see absolutely no one she recognized outside of the Ziegler home for the rest of her summer.

* * *

 

This was seen to fairly easily, actually, since no longer was Angela interested in going to the village with Moira during Moira’s free days, and Moira wasn’t certain that Luka would let her go off alone even if she wanted to.

She was not sent home, thankfully, but she was no longer able to make the trip to the hospital and walk the length of the wards for rounding, and she had to sit for most of her time at the clinic. Her head cleared quickly, and her two broken fingers were not a terrible burden, but the bruised ribs were painful and difficult to ignore. Her nose, while quite battered, as not broken, and her split lip healed quickly. The laceration across her orbital was slower to heal and required sutures, but it would be closed by the time Moira returned home.

Home. Moira felt she could hear her mother’s hand-wringing through the telephone line as she reported having a bit too much to drink and falling face first into a rocky ditch. She was scolded, and told she should spend her time less like her brothers might, but her mother was not so worried as Moira knew she would have been if she’s known the truth. This was alright, it kept her here.

Luka asked her a few more times who had attacked her, but even if Moira knew and remembered names, she did not want to revisit the issue, or what brought her out that night, or why the men attacked her. She just wanted it all to go away, and eventually Luka allowed it. All the same, Moira now saw he asked Angela to play a bit closer to the house, and she wondered if Angela would be able to go to town alone when she was older.

For the weeks following the incident both Moira and Angela spent most of their time indoors, Moira recovering and Angela happy to claim her as her first official patient. While the summer had taken a harsh downward turn in the middle, Moira later would reflect that taken in its entirety it was a good experience, and one she would not forget. Indeed, when she said goodbye to Angela at the house, and to Dr. Ziegler at the airport, she had to fight the urge to cry, but she hugged and thanked them both, and promised to keep in touch in the coming years.

And here Moira sat, tugging uncomfortably at her collar as she stared at her reflection in the airplane lavatory. The wound across her face had closed completely, but was still red and angry, and she expected the scar would be significant. She touched it with a sigh, thankful her eye wasn’t damaged and she could still see well. It was a good summer, with more joy than pain, and Moira agreed with Dr. Ziegler, thankful for being sent a small mercy.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> TFW you write an epilogue and it ends up being almost as long as the story.

Despite her nervousness, Angela felt something akin to happiness for the first time in nearly two weeks as she scanned the oncoming crowd for a familiar face. Last time she checked the flight hadn’t been delayed, she should be coming soon. Did she still look the same? Well, she can’t have shrunk, so she should still at least tower above the rest of the crowd.

Honestly Angela wasn’t even sure if _she_ would be recognizable, Moira hadn’t seen her since she was six years old after all, and so she held the little white paper sign in her hands that said O’Deorian, M. and waited and wondered if she looked okay.

She looked and felt like a wreck most of the time lately, but the initial blow of the news, the absolute dismay, had faded into a smoldering heartache. Once Angela had moved to the city to be closer to the university Dr. Ziegler had opted to rejoin the war efforts as a battlefield medic once more. It had torn Angela up inside when he left, and she cried unabashedly at this very airport as he left, but he assured her all would be well. Not even being right to tell him he couldn’t be sure of that could soften the blow of losing her father so young. She wondered if someone who was nineteen still counted as an orphan? She felt orphaned, alone. Angela’s world hand crumbled around her two weeks ago when she received the news of the air strikes that took her father from this world. Her brave, strong, kind-hearted father who only wanted to help.

She had taken leave from her program to see to family affairs, and had mostly returned home to Alpentstadt, an extraordinarily painful experience. Her childhood home, which held all her fondest memories and deepest comforts, now seemed cold, empty, and hollow without anyone there. Her father’s body had been shipped home for burial, and was at the mortuary in the village. The funeral was set for tomorrow, and she was sure she would cry again tonight. She cried every night.

But not right now. Right now, for the first time in weeks, she smiled.

Throughout her youth she had regularly tried to cook up some reason to talk to her father’s . . . apprentice? Intern? Assistant? There was no real word for the girl who had stayed with them that summer long ago, but sadly it was not so close a relationship that Moira O’Deorain ever returned to Alpentstadt after that summer. For a long time Angela blamed the older boys and girls in the village who had been cruel to Moira, but as she grew older she realized that it had simply been like a job for Moira, and she had no real reason to return. She had gotten out of the experience what she needed, and she left. Angela hated the day she realized this. She never knew how to reach out, to say “I miss you,” to ask Moira to visit her, or ask if she remembered the day she promised they would be partners when Angela grew up.

And so it was bittersweet to finally be able to reach out to Moira and re-introduce herself, grown now. Her father’s ledger did not have a telephone number, but he apparently kept Moira’s email address, and Angela presumed that they may have maintained professional correspondence. Angela did not know how Moira received the news. Was she heartbroken, like Angela? Was she irritated to be reminded of that summer and that incident? Did she remember Luka Ziegler at all? Did she remember Angela?

She said she did. Angela had received a short but seemingly sincere message of condolences, and a promise to attend the funeral which made Angela’s breath catch, and suddenly she had felt she had something to look forward to again.

Angela fidgeted a bit, not knowing if she’d dressed well enough. Moira _always_ dressed well, or at least she did then. Angela had always thought she looked like a beautiful prince from a fairy tale, but she never wanted to tell Moira that because Moira would have thought she only read kids’ books. Angela laughed at the thought now, how much she remembered trying to act grown up when Moira was around. But no, Moira had always dressed nice, and so Angela tried to put in the same effort. Black wedges, a charcoal pencil skirt, a light-grey blouse, a black satin neckerchief, and a simple charcoal blazer, with her hair tied back in a way she had become accustomed to.

She was fairly certain she spotted Moira before Moira spotted her, a red-head with short, slick-backed hair a good head above everyone else in the milling crowd. Angela hadn’t known if she simply remembered Moira being so tall since she had been so short by comparison, but she saw now she was not mistaken. Grinning, she placed her sign behind her back and rocked back on her heels, anxious to see if she was as easily recognizable to Moira as Moira was to her.

As the crowd thinned and peeled off and Moira drew closer to the central gathering point Angela could see her more clearly. Her sense of style did not seem to have changed much. Her fitted black sport coat covered a dark grey vest, which in turn covered a shiny silver tie over a white collared shirt. Her black slacks were neatly cuffed over black monk shoes that looked recently shined. Despite the sharp dress, one thing caught Angela’s eye more than anything else, and her heart ached and swelled at once to see a noticeable, pale scar above and below Moira’s left eye, where even a bit of eyebrow no longer grew. Like a flash Angela pictured this same girl, lying in the guest room, her face swollen and covered with blood, as she smiled at Angela and told her that she was safe. Angela wondered if Moira was self-conscious about the scar, if she ever tried to cover it up. She hoped not. Moira still looked like a beautiful prince.

Uh-oh. Moira didn’t look happy. Yes, she was coming for a funeral, of course, but she looked absolutely _irritated._ Angela’s smile faltered, and her shoulders slumped a bit. Oh no, what if she didn’t want to come? What if she felt obligated to be here due to Dr. Ziegler’s mentorship, but she hated being taken away from wherever she was? She was probably much too busy to be here, probably had a life she had left, a partner . . . she would be nearly thirty now, right? What if she had _kids_? Angela suddenly realized how little she really knew about Moira, and she shifted nervously as she realized in all this wondering that she had locked eyes with Moira, who looked agitated.

She was indeed agitated as she finally reached Angela, and came to an abrupt stop, wheeling her small, black leather suitcase to a stop by her feet. It matched her shoes perfectly. “Hello, Angela.”

Angela shook her head a bit to clear it, and decided to push on politely, to not make anything she might have already done worse, “Moira, thank you so much for coming. I didn’t know if you’d recognize me,” She smiled softly.

Moira gave a quiet huff and tapped her long fingers on the handle of her suitcase, “If you’d rather me not come, I can get a rental car and a hotel and only attend the service.” Angela didn’t know what to say, and her perplexed look apparently indicated that was not her idea to Moira, “I could probably book a return flight tonight?”

Angela shook her head slowly at first, then more rapidly, “N-no! Why would I want you to leave? You’ve only just arrived!” She must have been the picture of confusion.

Moira was visibly confused herself, and with her free hand she motioned toward Angela’s arm, still held behind her back, “When you saw me coming you hid the sign away,” She began sounding angry, but her voice became softer, and carried an air of defeat, “Listen, Angela, if you don’t want me around, I’ll leave. Whatever is easiest for you, I—I know things are probably hard for you right now.”

The sign fluttered to the ground as Angela looped her arms around Moira without a thought, trapping her arms at her sides, and squeezed her tightly. Angela found her face pressed into Moira’s chest, and she closed her eyes tightly, mumbling into her necktie, “No, please don’t go. I’m sorry, I wasn’t trying to avoid you. I wanted to see if you’d recognize me, please don’t go Moira, I want you here.”

She isn’t sure if she felt or heard the rush of air as Moira let out the breath she’d apparently been holding, but she felt the tense muscles of Moira’s arms and back relax against her, and felt Moira’s arms slowly, stiffly bend at the elbows to loop around her back and rest there. It was quiet for a minute, she presumed Moira was collecting her thoughts, then she felt strong, low reverberations through Moira’s chest as she spoke quietly, her face turned down so she was more mumbling into Angela’s hair than anything else, “Alright, I just don’t want to be a bother. Whatever you want. I just don’t want you to be upset.”

Angela smiled, her face still pressed into Moira’s chest. Moira smelled like leather and cloves, and she could feel Moira’s heart beating rapidly, feel Moira’s chest rise and fall in sequence with the breath she felt rustling her hair. The embrace was stiff and awkward and she could almost feel Moira looking around at the airport crowd uncomfortably, but Angela didn’t particularly care. These weeks had been terrible, lonely, heart-wrenching, and for the first time since it all began she felt she wasn’t alone, she was warm and safe as she felt Moira’s chest rise and fall against her cheek.

“Uh . . . so . . .” Moira began awkwardly after some unknown amount of time had passed, and Angela snapped from her reverie and pulled away politely, tucking a loose blonde strand behind her ear as she straightened her blazer.

Angela nodded, “Right, yes, I’m parked in short-term parking. Shall we go?” She smiled, and held out her hand.

Moira eyed the offered hand warily at first, then moved her suitcase to the other side of her body and took Angela’s hand in hers. As they began to walk, however, Angela rather regretted it. She liked this, holding hands as they walked like they had when she was a child, it was a comfort, a fond memory. But she saw the way Moira frowned and looked around regularly as they walked, and she scolded herself for not considering the darker memories of that summer which might plague Moira.

“Do you want me to let go?” Angela asked as they walked, looking at Moira with a concerned smile. Direct, honest, that was best.

Moira looked back at her, and Angela could see the conflict in her eyes. Moira swallowed, and looked ahead again with a shrug, “However you are most comfortable.”

Angela frowned and looked ahead. Not good. Moira was going along with whatever she wanted. It was no surprise, everyone had been ducking and bowing for her, saying they would do what they could to make this time easier for her, help her in whatever way they could. The people from the village had brought over enough food to feed ten households in the past days since she’d arrived home. She appreciated it, of course, but she didn’t like thinking people were troubling themselves over her, and Moira looked troubled. It was the last thing Angela wanted, Moira babying her. She didn’t want that when she _was_ a child, and she didn’t want it now either. She let her hand fall away from Moira’s, and continued to look ahead at the building exit for short-term parking as she felt Moira look down at their unlinked hands, then back ahead herself.

“I borrowed this from Sophie’s niece when I came back home,” Angela explained as she unlocked a small blue sedan, just a few years old. Moira stashed her small suitcase in the empty back seat as Angela got in, then got into the passenger seat. Angela hid a grin behind her hand as Moira grunted, knees at her chest, then reached under the seat for the handle and rolled the seat all the way back until it clicked into place and she had a bit more leg room. Angela smiled, “Comfy?”

The look of exasperation Moira gave her was enough to make Angela chuckle as she pulled out of the garage and into the rainy afternoon in Zurich. For a little ways the only sound was the swish of water under the car’s tires and the fwip-fwip, fwip-fwip, fwip-fwip of the windscreen wipers, and Angela imagined she could hear gears turning in her own head as well as she tried to think of what to say. True she’d wanted to see Moira for years, but she’d never really imagined it happening, and not like this, with the most awkward of airport reunions to start them off.

Thankfully, it was Moira who finally broke the silence, clearing her throat as she shifted uncomfortably in her seat, looking out the window at the dreary roadway, “So what have you been doing?”

Happy for a fairly innocuous subject, Angela launched into a report of her life thus far. Between her own studiousness and her father’s tutoring she had finished her secondary schooling at fourteen. Too young to live in the city alone, she had completed much of her eidgenössiches artzdiplom remotely by correspondence and eventually internet-based coursework. By the time she was ready to move to Zurich at seventeen, she had only a year left. She stayed on at Geneva for her post-graduate specialist training, and was well on her way through an accelerated track. She explained with pride that she expected to sit the facharztprüfung in no more than three years’ time.

Angela hand-waved the typical words of congratulations and praise that Moira sent her way upon hearing about her progress, and pressed Moira to give her own life update. Angela tried to hide her dismay when she found out that Moira had not pursued medicine at university after all, but listened intently to the path Moira’s life took her on.

She had finished secondary school and attended Trinity College for three years as an undergraduate studying molecular biology, then was accepted to a PhD program for biological sciences at Cambridge in London. Moira explained that her dissertation was difficult, her advisors had not had much faith in her hypothesis, but she had managed to defend successfully. She scoffed a bit as she explained she thought the university might just want to be rid of her at that point. Now she was back at Trinity in a post-doc position. She grumbled briefly about having to teach undergraduates and work on others’ research, but Angela got the feeling she enjoyed being in the lab all the same. Angela got the feeling that Moira was not in the mood to discuss her bumpy road through academia either. But Angela did have one question she wouldn’t let go unanswered.

With a sly grin she turned to Moira as they sat in a bit of rush-hour traffic, “So how are we going to be a doctor team if you don’t practice medicine?”

Moira let out a loud ‘ha’ and looked toward Angela, but quickly looked away and Angela was sure she’d seem a look of nervousness, “I’m still a doctor. Just not that kind,” Moira explained, and Angela could hear that she was smiling, and her tone was nonchalant.

Angela feigned a long period of consideration until the traffic began to move again, then said approvingly, “I suppose I’ll allow it.”

They smiled at each other, but each turned away quickly, Angela back to the road and Moira to the cars going by.

Angela had smiled more in the past hour than in the past fortnight, and she was so happy Moira had come back.

* * *

 

“So it will just be the two of us?” Moira sounded . . . confused? That wasn’t discomfort in her voice, was it? Hopefully not.

Angela nodded as they left the far end of the village and night began to fall. She was happy they would make it home before it was completely dark, she hated driving at night, “Most of my father’s colleagues and friends are driving in from Zurich for the service, and a few from abroad are staying in the village. And of course many couldn’t make it.”

Moira nodded silently.

“Does that . . . bother you, Moira?” Angela chewed at her lip a bit, and her expression was one of concern when Moira turned to her to answer.

“No, it’s whatever is best for you,” Moira answered, and Angela grimaced a bit, though Moira didn’t seem to notice, continuing with her explanation, “Funerals back home, they’re . . . a big affair, that’s all. People come from all over.” A pause. She looked more imploringly toward Angela, “I had thought maybe that’s why you invited me to stay. Should I have gotten a hotel room? I can, if you want to turn around?”

Angela shook her head as they turned into the gravel drive. The house was dark, but she’d left the porch light on since she knew they’d be returning in the evening. She threw the car into park alongside the house and unbuckled her safety belt, “I’m glad you’re staying at the house. It’s been . . . very lonely, without papa,” She was pretty sure her strategic exit of the vehicle hid the sob effectively.

Moira extracted herself from the vehicle and straightened up with a groan; Angela heard several joints pop and she wondered how uncomfortable Moira found airline travel in general. Perhaps she could convince her to stay a few extra days . . .

“I made sure the guest room was made up,” Angela said as Moira fetched her suitcase, and they both walked toward the house together, “It should be pretty similar to how it was when you were here, papa didn’t really change much.”

Moira nodded.

“Are you hungry? I’m sorry, I should have asked that when you got in, did they feed you on the flight?” Angela unlocked the front door and let them in, locking the door behind them.

Moira shook her head, “They did, but it was . . . not good. But don’t trouble yourself, I don’t need anything really.”

Angela laughed, “Oh it’s no trouble, I think I have enough food to last for several months if necessary. You’ll be doing me a favor by helping me get rid of it, I assure you. You remember the house, ja? Up the stairs, around the left to the front, right next to the bathroom?” Moira nodded, “I’ll heat something up, go relax.”

After Moira made her way up the stairs Angela busied herself picking out the most appetizing of the dishes she’d been provided, suddenly realizing she had no idea what sort of food Moira liked best. She resolved to just heat up a bit of everything. She could hear Moira’s steps on the floorboard above her, and the house that had seemed empty and cold felt somewhat normal again.

She wasn’t sure what she would do with the house. She wanted to keep it, it was her childhood home after all, but such a big house for just her, so far away from the university’s hospital complex, it was impractical. She sighed as she added scalloped potatoes into the skillet and she tried to push the questions of property and inheritance from her mind. There were no other heirs and that made things simple, but it was still much too much to think about right now.

She wondered if Moira had any brothers or sisters, if Moira’s parents were still alive. There was a lot she didn’t know about Moira, actually, and that thought made her frown. But she could fix that now, and that thought made her smile again. She took the warmed potatoes out of the skillet and put them under foil, transferring slices of black pudding in to take up the empty space, then she fetched a can of lager from the fridge and popped it open with a satisfying crack. She wouldn’t consider herself much of a drinker, but tonight felt like a night for it.

The scent of many different casseroles and meat dishes wafted through the kitchen and throughout the house, and Angela had been contentedly mixing and swapping foods with one hand and drinking her beer with the other when she caught Moira out of the corner of her eye. She squeaked with surprise, but thankfully avoided dropping her spatula _or_ her beer, and just sighed at Moira, who held her hands up apologetically in the doorway.

“How long have you been standing there?” Angela laughed at her own reaction.

Moira shrugged and gave an awkward smile, “A few minutes? I didn’t want to interrupt.”

“Yes, very important business going on in here, oh, whoops.” Angela gave a swirling motion with her spatula, flicking a bit of noodle to land somewhere on the far end of the kitchen. She chuckled again, “Want a beer?”

Moira nodded and stepped in the kitchen to lean with her back against the counter beside Angela. Angela fetched and opened a beer for her, and when she handed it to Moira she noted that even with a significant lean and slouch Moira seemed to tower over her. Moira nodded her thanks and took a drink, pulled the can back to look at the label, and sniffed at it.

“Bad?” Angela raised an eyebrow.

“No, just new.” Moira smiled, then looked around the kitchen. The rest of the large house was dark now, and darkness had fallen outside the window. Being as far out as the house was, there were no street lights, and it was as though this one room were the only point of light in their world. After a few more sips of the beer with only the soundtrack of sizzling food, Moira motioned around the house, “Back home there would be a million people here.”

“Oh?” Angela cocked her head to show she was listening as she swapped out food again. She was deliberately cooking very small portions of many things, just in case Moira was picky.

“Mmmm” Moira nodded and took another drink, “Wakes last days. Someone dies and everyone gets notice when the funeral will be, and people start showing up to the family’s house days in advance. For the party,” Angela blushes a bit when Moira winks at her, and Moira seems to blush too, and quickly looks down at her beer for another drink, “Well, yes, the wake is basically several nights of partying. There’s crying, too, and talking about the, ah, the deceased and their life and everything. But mostly everyone just gets right drunk.”

“I thought that was just an Irish stereotype,” Angela grins as she finally finishes plating the last of their smorgasbord and cocks her head toward the table at the bay window at the front of the kitchen. There was a real dining room, but it seemed a bit much for a dinner of leftovers for two.

Moira followed her, beer in hand, and shook her head as she sat, “I suppose it depends on the family and everything, but no, it’s pretty accurate in mine.”

Ah ha, her in. “What’s your family like, Moira?” Angela pushed a plate toward Moira, breaking away briefly to fetch them cutlery before sitting down to her own plate.

“Big,” was all Moira answered before taking a bite from one of the several bite-sized selections of food scattered across the platter. She swallowed and Angela was pleased to see she didn’t look disgusted. She continued, “Four brothers, all older, and my parents. So that was my house growing up, but the whole family lives close. Aunts, uncles, cousins, everyone. So whenever there was anything: Birth, wake, wedding, anything, there was always a big party.”

“That sounds wonderful,” Angela said sincerely, envious of Moira’s life. Angela loved her father, and she cared for her old babysitter Sophie. She’d had several friends in the village. But she always felt a little lonely, and briefly she imagined herself surrounded by Moira’s family. She had no idea what they looked or acted like, of course, so she just imagined a lot of people who looked a lot like Moira, and she giggled a bit at the thought of herself surrounded by towering, red-heads drunk as can be. After a few bites of miscellaneous casseroles she added happily, “You should have brought them all, we could have had a real Irish wake for papa.”

It was Moira’s turn to laugh at the thought, and she just shook her head and continued eating.

“What was it like? Growing up with four brothers? Are they like you?”

Moira cocked her head from side to side a bit as she chewed, then swallowed before answering, “Somewhat. We all look pretty similar. Well, except the facial hair,” She grinned, and Angela did too, “ But no, they mostly stayed back home. I was the only one who went to university, they seem happy to stay home. They’re all married with kids now, Toms going to be a grandda soon. Shite,” Moira cringed and took a drink, “I’ll be a great aunt. I sound so old.”

Angela laughed and shook her head, “I don’t think so.” They fell into a comfortable silence for a few minutes while they both worked on their plates. Angela continued eventually, “So why haven’t you?”

“Why haven’t I what?” Moira raised an eyebrow as she tipped her head back and drained the remainder of her can.

“Gotten married, had kids?” Angela leaned over the table, her elbows on either side of her emptied plate.

“Oh, uh,” Moira stumbled over her response for a minute, scratching at her eyebrow nervously, “Married to my work, I guess?”

“Papa was married to his work,” Angela said with a smile, “He still met my mother and had me.”

Moira shrugged, “He was a lucky man.” She smiled at Angela, who smiled back and decided to leave it at that. For now.

“Another beer? I don’t think we can compete with a traditional Irish wake, but I wouldn’t mind another myself,” Angela rose from the table and took both their empty plates in hand.

Moira seemed to consider something for a minute, looking uneasily at Angela, then away, then back to Angela, then away. She shook her head, “I had better sleep.”

Angela frowned, but nodded, “I understand. Thank you for having dinner with me.”

She smiled and thanked Angela. After being shooed away for her offer to help clean the dishes, Moira retreated up the stairs and Angela once again heard footsteps on the floorboards as her guest retired for the night.

Angela sighed, simultaneously dejected that Moira didn’t stay up with her but pleased that Moira was here at all. It had been nice to sit at the table and have a warm meal with someone she cared about again.

Rather than reaching for a second beer, Angela opted for a glass of wine as she cleaned the kitchen. She wasn’t the cleanest person and would probably have left this for another time, but she didn’t know how tomorrow would be for her. She also had to admit she liked this feeling, cooking (or reheating, as it were) and having dinner with Moira, then cleaning up for the night. It was mundane, and terribly domestic, but it made Angela feel at home, and it made her heart seem less heavy that it had been before Moira arrived.

* * *

 

Angela had woken some time ago, but she kept he eyes shut, willing this day to fade away from existence. Perhaps, if she never got out of bed, her father’s funeral would never have to happen, and she could ignore that he ever passed at all. Unfortunately she was still sane and knew the time would come to get out of bed soon enough, but for now she was content with staying here.

Her twin bed, the same she’d slept in since she’d left her toddler crib, was soft and warm, and she could tell without opening her eyes that the room was still dark. The house was silent; if Moira were awake across the house she hadn’t stirred from her bed either.

Angela decided to imagine she could hear footsteps in the room between the two, her early-rising father getting ready for his day. She would hear him move around for a while, then hear the taps in his bathroom. Water for some time, then taps again. Footsteps, the closet doors. Closet doors a few minutes later, footsteps. The creak of his bed as he sat down to put on his shoes. Creak as he stood. Footsteps, then his bedroom door.

She smiled. Would he come knock on her door and wake her up, ask her what she wanted to do that day? Would he go downstairs and start making breakfast for them? No, of course not, Moira was here. She remembered that summer. She would hear his footsteps walk to Moira’s door, and a soft knock so that he wouldn’t wake Angela. Quiet voices, one very tired and very Irish, as they discussed the day’s plans. The soft click of Moira’s door closing as papa’s footsteps moved down the stairs. Then there were two. Papa would make more noise downstairs, and food smells would come soon. Upstairs she could hear Moira getting ready now. Footsteps, nearly as heavy as papa’s, on the floorboards. Clicks and creaks of doors as Moira went to the upstairs bathroom off the landing. Taps. Water. Taps. Exasperated sighs, grunts of dissatisfaction, some days a light curse. Angela had once asked papa why Moira always sounded so dissatisfied in the morning. Papa had shrugged and said she was a teenager. It didn’t make much sense to Angela until she was a teenager herself. Now she grinned against her pillow to imagine teenage Moira staring at herself in the mirror, wishing whatever Moira wished for. Did she think she was too tall? Did she not like her hair? Her freckles? Her nose? Her eyes? Angela didn’t know what Moira would wish was different, she’d always thought Moira was perfect.

 _That_ sound wasn’t Angela’s memory reel. Across the house she could hear Moira beginning to stir, the full-sized bed creaking as she shifted her weight. She held her breath, listening. Moira was getting out of bed. Now she was walking, slowly. A low groan. Angela imagined Moira stretching. She could easily touch the ceiling if she wanted to. Now more footsteps, the door opening and closing, then footsteps to the bathroom. A few moments of silence. Taps. Water.

 _Knock-knock-knock._ “Angela? Are you awake?” The knock was light, Moira’s voice soft, but Angela started awake. Her room was fully light with sunlight, and she suddenly realized she’d fallen asleep again to the sound of Moira’s shower. Instinctively she leapt from her bed, cursing lightly, and grabbed for the doorknob.

She swung the door open to reveal a mostly-dressed, concerned-looking Moira. While Angela knew she looked a mess with bed-hair and wearing a college sweater and gym shorts, Moira looked as put together as ever. Angela blinked the sleep from her eyes as she took Moira in in the bright morning light. Black monk shoes, the same from the day before, charcoal slacks supported with black braces over a white button-down. Moira had a handful of ties, and her hair was still damp and poofed out a bit in some places. Angela found it endearing, and she rubbed her eyes a bit as Moira looked on with concern, “I woke up earlier, but I must have fallen back asleep. What time is it?”

“It’s only about 9:30,” Moira explained apologetically, “I know the service isn’t until 3, but didn’t know if you needed to do anything first. I’m sorry, I should have let you sleep.”

“No, no, thank you for waking me,” Angela waved her hand absently to shoo away Moira’s doubts, “I should get ready, there will probably be people visiting today. Papa’s friends and all.” She leaned against the door a bit, shifting her weight to one leg while she scratched the back of her calf with her opposite foot, “Did you sleep okay?”

“A-aye, I did,” Moira nodded, and Angela noted that the accent that seemed to be mostly gone yesterday was a bit more apparent. She held up her hand, from which several different ties dangled, “Which tie, do you think?”

Angela smiled and stepped closer, passing the ties between her fingers. They were all soft, mostly silk but some softened, worn linen. Most were shades of grey, many with diagonal striped patterns of alternating shades. A few had other colors mixed in, a few were solid but subdued colors, “Why did you bring so many ties?” Angela chuckled a bit. There were at least twelve ties in the bundle.

Moira shrugged sheepishly.

“I’ll tell you what,” Angela grinned as she picked out two similar ties. Both were silk, with alternating colored diagonal lines, but one had large swaths of muted purple mixed with thin lines of grey while the other had large swaths of grey with thin lines of muted purple. She held the more purple out to Moira, “You wear this one, and I’ll wear this one,” She draped the more grey tie around her neck.

Moira looked on with a doubtful frown, taking the offered tie in hand, “My ties are too long for you. “

Angela shrugged, “I don’t think anyone’s going to judge me at my father’s funeral, do you?” _Bit dark, Angela, lighten it up a bit,_ “Besides, this way we’ll match.”

Angela wasn’t sure which part of her statement left Moira at a loss for words, but Moira just draped the chosen tie around her neck, nodded, and retreated to her bedroom. Angela stayed in her doorway long enough for Moira to glance back at her quickly before shutting the door.

Angela had already planned the outfit she would wear for the service, and it had no room for a tie. A change was in order. By the time she had finished her morning routine she had settled on it. She would swap her black dress for a simple black A-line skirt and white blouse. Moira was right, of course, that the tie was much too long for Angela, but a black vest would cover where the ends hung too long. A black blazer and black wedges would round out a suitable funeral outfit. In fact, as she stood in front of her vanity, she felt she looked quite good. She smiled at the only color in the outfit, the bits of purple in the tie.

She flung the door open and quickly descended the stairs to the entryway, where she found Moira shaking hands with a man who would have been a little older than her late father, who had a wife and younger man with him.

“—shadowed Dr. Ziegler for a summer when I was younger,” Moira was explaining to the man. As Angela descended the stairs she saw Moira had finished dressing. A light grey vest over the chosen tie and a black suit jacket. Moira let go of the man’s hand and took a step back and to the side, “And would you know . . .?” she let her sentence trail off for Angela to handle from there.

Angela had not met the man or his guests before, and introductions were had all around. A former work colleague of her father’s, they’d collaborated on some projects several years ago and Dr. Vikander had come with his wife Sonja and son Arn to pay his respects. Angela invited them into the parlor, and Moira volunteered to make tea in the kitchen, and so the day began. More colleagues and old friends of her father’s came throughout the morning to greet her, offer condolences, and confirm the time and place for the services. She knew some of them, but far more were strangers to her. They would arrive, introductions would be made, words of mourning shared, hands were clasped or embraces were shared depending on appropriateness, and they would leave to prepare for the services around the time another set of strangers came up the walk. Many were doctors or academics, and she felt somewhat like she was attending a very dour medical conference.

Moira mostly kept to herself, constantly making fresh pots of tea to offer to the intermittently arriving mourners. Angela was thankful for her presence and help, even moreso when Moira appeared from nowhere and wordlessly handed her a small plate of warm food around noon. By half past one the steady trickle finally dried up, and Angela had no one else to sit with in the parlor or greet at the door. Already exhausted before the services even began, she shuffled into the kitchen. Coffee or a beer? She would happily accept either at this point.

She found Moira in the kitchen, leaning bodily against counter and holding a mug in both hands, directly in front of her mouth. When she saw Angela she sipped loudly, and asked from behind the cup, “They’ve all gone?”

Angela nodded tiredly as she pried open the refrigerator and grabbed one of the remaining cans of beer. While she saw nothing of the nature in Moira’s eyes she grinned as she popped it open, chiding preemptively, “Don’t judge me, it’s a long day already.”

Moira wiggled her glass a bit, then took another sip, “Hot whiskey.”

“Mmm, shouldn’t have opened this, that sounds better,” Angela smirked as she took a large gulp from her beer and leaned against the counter next to Moira. With a tired sigh she leaned her head and shoulder against Moira’s arm, “Thank you for being here, Moira, you’ve been a big help.”

“Mmmhmmm,” Moira hummed, sipping again.

“’We should go soon.”

“Mmmhmmm,” Moira hummed, taking another sip.

“Are you drunk, Moira?”

“. . . not yet.” Moira muttered, letting her head fall back as she finished the contents of the mug. She gave a contented sigh and set the mug on the counter, “Not until at least after the service. I do have some manners,” She looked down at Angela with a soft smile.

Angela rolled her eyes, “I see.” She took a few large pulls from her own can and set the half-full container next to Moira’s empty mug, then turned and leaned against Moira, embracing her firmly, “I really mean it,” She mumbled into Moira’s chest, “I don’t know what I’d do today without you here.”

She could feel Moira’s heart beating rapidly, but her breath was steady and slow. One of Moira’s arms wrapped around her back, and she placed her other hand lightly on the back of Angela’s head, holding her against her softly.

“We’ll just stay here,” Angela whispered conspiratorially into Moira’s tie, “They’ll never miss us.” She loved the feeling of Moira’s chest against her face when Moira laughed. She could stay here forever, especially given what awaited her when she left the house. As Moira rubbed her back and stroked the back of her head comfortingly she just wanted to fall asleep here and now, and so they stood in silence, Moira leaning against the counter and Angela leaning against Moira, until they knew they had to go. Angela sniffed a bit as she pulled away, and smiled up at Moira. Moira was rubbing the back of her own head now, her other hand on her hip. “Come on,” Angela held out her hand for Moira to take, “Let’s go see Papa one more time.”

* * *

 

The service was simple but beautiful, and while the sky was overcast, it did not rain. Immediately following the service many people paid Angela their condolences, but said they simply must go. Still more, however, made their way back to the house for the official reception.

The reception was a sober affair, not unlike the individual receptions throughout the morning. Many doctors and their husbands, wives, children shaking Angela’s hand and telling her their fond memories of Luka. Again Moira kept mostly out of sight, and Angela was jealous whenever she imagined Moira off sneaking more cocktails by herself. She longed to join her, and said as much whenever Moira appeared with a sadly liquor-free cup of tea for Angela.

“It’s a long day, but this too shall pass,” Moira had bent and whispered in her ear as she’d handed her a fresh cup of tea, and that had helped.

Eventually the house began to clear out, and the maddening, hushed whispers of the many mourners dissipated, leaving only silence in their place.

“Come on,” Moira’s voice said in darkness, “Let’s get you to bed.”

Groggily Angela opened her eyes. She was slumped back against the couch, and Moira was crouching in front of her, one hand on her shoulder and the other cupping her cheek as Moira searched her face. Angela smiled weakly, “You’re still here. Good, I’m glad you’re here, Moira.”

“Yes, you told me,” Moira smiled back, and stood, holding out her hand to Angela, “Come on, let’s get you to bed, it’s been a long day.”

An idea. Well, not an idea. An idea implied thinking about a thing. Why you did the thing, what the thing was meant to accomplish. This wasn’t an idea, so much as a thing that was going to happen. Angela nodded and took Moira’s hand, but after she stood she took her hand from Moira’s, who looked down quizzically at her.

“I can go up, thank you. Could you make sure everyone is gone, make sure the doors are locked?” She _thought_ she could go up, anyway, She wasn’t sure if she was just waking up or just falling asleep but she was certainly not alert.

Moira nodded and left her to find her way upstairs alone, and she did just that, kicking off her shoes  and pulling off her vest, loosening her—Moira’s tie as she walked along the landing. With a wide, loud yawn she fell onto the bed and pushed her face into the pillow, breathing in deeply, leather and cloves.

Several minutes passed before the door creaked open, “Angela?” Moira flicked on the light and walked slowly over to her. Angela didn’t open her eyes, and she felt Moira grip her shoulder lightly and shake her a bit, “Angela, come on, let’s get you into your own bed.”

The noise Angela made could be described as outright petulant, a whine, a pout. She twisted out of Moira’s grasp toward the side of the bed, then scooted a bit more away from Moira to make room for the taller woman to join her. This bed was a full-sized bed, there was plenty of room for both of them.

Moira apparently wasn’t so sure. If Angela had been listening more closely she’d have heard Moira’s slow breath for quite some time as she stood at the bedside, watching Angela fall asleep. Then a deep, defeated sigh, much rustling of fabric. Despite being nearly off to sleep, Angela did feel the bed sink as Moira sat down softly behind her, then laid out on the bed. Angela was awake enough to smile, and had she had the energy she’d have liked to turn over, to curl up in Moira’s side, defeating the significant effort Moira was clearly putting in to stay on the side of the bed and avoid touching Angela. But she had no energy for that, and simply fell off to sleep.

* * *

 

“I don’t want you to leave,” Angela said simply as she leaned against the doorframe in the kitchen. Moira jumped with a start and turned around, still wearing her crumpled slacks and button-down from the day before, the top three buttons undone, shirt half-untucked.

When Angela had woken alone in the guest bedroom she had panicked. Moira wouldn’t have taken a ride with one of the other doctors to the airport, would she have? She couldn’t leave Angela without saying goodbye. But when she smelled food coming from downstairs she calmed down and crept down quietly. She’d stood, watching Moira standing in front of the stove in her disheveled clothes, her mussed red hair pointing in all sorts of strange directions.

“Oh, good morning,” Moira smiled, then turned back to the skillet, “I’m making hash with a lot of those left-overs. Well, it’s sort of hash . . . it resembles hash.”

Angela smiled as she crossed the kitchen and wrapped her arms around Moira’s waist, pressing her face into Moira’s back. She felt Moira stiffen, and could tell she was holding her breath, but she decided she would outlast her in this, and indeed after a few moments Moira seemed to relax a bit, and exhaled heavily.

“We can eat in a minute or two, unless you want something different,” Moira continued, trying to sound nonchalant. Angela could feel her heartbeat in her back.

“Mmmmmmm,” Angela hummed contentedly, then said again into Moira’s shirt, “I don’t want you to leave today.”

Silence for a moment, then, quietly, “My flight is not refundable, and sadly PhDs don’t make the money MDs do. I have to go.”

Angela tightened her arms a bit, “I’ll buy you a ticket. In a few days. Pappa left me everything, I can. I bet he’d want you to stay too.”

Moira let out a sigh that Angela more felt than heard, and she hear Moira turn off the burner, and felt Moira’s warm hand cover one of hers. She was worried Moira would pry her arms away, but she didn’t, just let her hand rest on Angela’s, “I have a job I have to return to, too. I can’t stay. I’m sorry.”

She tightened her arms even more, and just nodded her head against Moira’s back. She felt the flexing and relaxing of small muscles throughout Moira’s back, sides, and abdomen as Moira began plating breakfast for the two of them without pulling away from Angela, and Angela fought the urge to run her fingers across Moira’s stomach.

“Do you have a girlfriend, Moira?”

It felt as though every muscle in Moira’s body tensed at once, and remained in such a state, and the only sound in the kitchen was the still-sizzling, empty pan as both women held their breath.

“I’m married to my work,” Moira said quietly, repeating her deflection from the night she arrived, and Angela felt the muscles in her back relax.

Angela hugged her tighter, “Will you be my girlfriend, Moira?”

Tense again, silence, no one breathing, until finally, “You’re very young, Angela, and you’re . . . in a state,” Moira turned, and Angela loosened her grip just enough to let her rotate in her embrace. When Moira looked down her body at Angela, Angela looked up in a way she knew probably looked pitiful, but she didn’t care. Much as the day before, Moira hooked one long arm around Angela’s back, and placed the other on the back of her head, stroking her hair lightly, holding her face against her chest. Later, after Moira had gone, Angela would reflect on this and realize Moira probably just couldn’t look at her as she finished, whispering quietly into Angela’s mussed blonde hair, “I can’t. I’m sorry, Angela. You don’t know what you want.”

Angela made to step back, fix her with a defiant stare, and tell her to not treat her like a child, not talk down to her, not tell her what’s best for her, but Moira strengthened her own embrace, “Please don’t argue,” Moira was whispering, and her voice was shaky, “Please, Angela, just let it go.”

“Alright,” Angela whispered softly into the wrinkled shirt which smelled of both of them, “Only for now.” Moira didn’t argue. Angela closed her eyes and relaxed against Moira, and she felt Moira relax against her, stroking her hair softly. By the time they stepped away the hash was cold and they had to rush to catch Moira’s plane.  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this epilogue turned more into a part two . . . which means there's still room for an actual epilogue. We will see. We will see.
> 
> (Also I went in a different direction at first since it was 3 AM and I was on a plane and I myself was going crazy, and so I ended up making Angela seem a bit like a crazy serial killer. Here's that bit that was cut out of her preparing for the funeral, if you'd like to read it: https://pastebin.com/kJ61FWNd Any fans of the US version of Queer as Folk might see a similarity to something from that show.)


End file.
